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TABLE OF CONTENTS, continued from inside back cover 

Virgil L. Frost, Jr. Alone ■ 29 

Maria Mellinger I Felt A Quite Bit Lonely 29 

MaryAnn DesiMarais Longing To Breathe Free 29 

Maria Mellinger Simply Breathe 30 

Gail Reed Rirakus Haunted 30 

Judy Belfield In Memoriam 31 

TABLE OF CONTENTS, pages 19-28- — „_-32 


WORDEATER 66 STAFF: Donna F. Aiello, Judy Belfield, MaryAnn DesMarais, Maria Mellinger, 

Nels Nelson, John Stohart, David L. Sullivan. 
In order to get a selection published in this issue, a majority of the above had to 
vote for acceptance. For the avard winners, only John Stobart is responsible. 

All copyrights are retained by the authors, and materials may not be 
reprinted without their permission. 


TaxH Pritchett' 

Maria Mailing er 
Connie Legters 
Judy Belfield 
Connie Legters 
Mary Ann DesMarais 
Nels Nelson 
Elise Wylie Boucher 
Prank Sanchez 
Maria Mellinger 
The Lakeside Poets 
Brian Mahalick 
Maria Mellinger 
Dave Cenan 
Connie Legters 
Erika Nelson 
Maria Mellinger 

MaryAnn DesMarais 
Maria Mellinger 
Richard Anthony 
Jenny Nelson 
Maria Mellinger 

Liz Hand 
Richard Anthony 
Cheri L. Workman 
Nels Nelson 
Elise Wylie Boucher 

Maria Mellinger 
Jerald Janes 
Connie Legters 

Paul Pritchett 
Maria Mellinger 
Connie Legters 
Gail Reed Rimkus 

-lels Nelson 
MaryAnn DesMarais 
-lels Nelson 
Cheri L. "-vorknian 
Zllen Ross 
Maria Mellinger 
MaryAnn DesMarais 

Maria Mellinger 

Nels Nelson 
Jerald Janes 
MaryAnn DesMarais 

Maria Mellinger 

Faith 1 

Say No To Drugs 1 

Admiration 1 

Nightmares 2 

A Night Out 2 

Pilgrimage 3 

Ride With Me 3 

Who's Driving? ^ 

Wingborn 5 

Bridge 5 

Pool Life 5 

A Dead Groundhog 5 

Playing Possum 6 

The Unreach •' 6 

Black Metal -r 6 

Dem Golden Slippers 6 

Dai sy 7 

How Beautiful a Bird T 

The Beheaded Rose 7 

How Can You Not 7 

Leaf 7 

Math 101 8 

Indecision 8 

Limbo ' 8 

Why Sleep Now? 9 

I Wanted Everyone To Know 10 

The Secret 10 

I Need Another Voice -10 

Victim of Fashion ~10 

Forward 10 

The Shore Is Empty 11 

Out Of Nothingness 11 

Nothing 11 

Mi s s ing 1 3 

Forgotten 13 

A Minimalistic Fable 13 

The Death of the One Page Essay 1^ 

Time Out ■ ' lU 

Parting 15 

Crossroads 15 

Uplook 15 

Ent er Qui et ly 1 6 

Enter, But Seep It Down 16 

Modern Art 16 

Sparkle- Ic 

A Fine Painting 16 

A Kaleidoscope 1" 

Words 17 

Don't Mute Your Artistry 17 

Life Is An Incredible Hallucination 17 

In Search of Knowledge 1'" 

Feast To Famine 17 

Leinenkugel Blues 13 

Testimonial of a Madman 15 

The Further Adventures of Deaf Ted, Danoota (And Me' — l3 
(continued on inside back cover) 

Paiil Pritchett 


o'ohn: A man in his late twenties. 

Larry: A man in his late thirties. 

Mary: A woman in her middle twenties. John's 

Janet: A woman in her middle thirties. 
Larry's wife. - 

The scene opens in John and Mary's apartment. 
John is sitting on a couch reading the 
Bihle. Mary is sitting next to him, listen- 

ing intently. 

John: (Reading from Matthew l:2i) "And she 
shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt 
call his name Jesus : for he shall save 
his people from their sins." 

Mary: God is so nice to us. We are so lucky. 

A knock at the door 

Mary: (Getting off couch, answers door) John, 

it's your old friend Larry. 
Larry: (Walking in, he shakes John's hand) 

Hi, John. 
John: Hi, Larry. How have you been doing? 
Larry: Not too good; I lost my wife and I 

lost my job. 
John: Larry, when' s the last time you went to 

Larry: I haven't been to church in years. I 

always thought that churches existed 

so that they could get your money. 
Mary: You are wrong. They only take the money 

they need. They use the money to pay for 

electricity and to pay the priest. 

Larry: I'm too old for that. 
Mary: You are never too old to accept Jesus 

Christ into your heart. 
Larry: It's hard. I don't have the faith. 
John: Get on your knees and pray with me. 


Janet: Larry, I've come back. I still 
love you. It was a mistake to 
leave. Also, on the way here, I 
met your boss. You've got your job 
Larry: Janet, how did you know that I was 
Janet: I don't know. It was just a feeling. 

John, Larry, and Mary stare at each other 
and start laughing. 

John: See, Larry, everything gets better 

if you have faith in Jesus Christ. 
Larry: I will never doubt again. 




Drugs are bad for you. They destroy 

your morals along with your brain. The 
pleas-ore you get from them is illusionary 
and temporary. Don't ever start. Friends 
that want you to do drugs aren't true 
friends . Say no to drugs . 

Larry, do you have faith in Jesus Christ iThey have experienced the world. 

They know the difference between right 

and wrong. 
They have accepted the condition that 

their life is in. 
They are happy. 
They are secure. 

Their lives are totally perfect . 
I hope that someday I will be fort'onatf 

enough to be that happy. 

John and Larry get on their knees. 

He gave us his son 
We love Jesus. 

John: God is the greatest 

to die for our sins. 

Larry: (Rising from his knees, looking up to 

heaven) I have faith now. I wonder if 

things will get better. 

A knock at the door. 

Mary: (opening door) Larry, it's your wife. 


I admire the people who are older than me. 
They have more wisdom than I will ever 

Ma,ria Mellinger 


It started in my ted, which is usually 
a safe place for me. ".^Then the thunder and 
lightning hold ^■iMF matches outside my vin- 
dow, my bed is always there to comfort me 
and wrap me in his 50^ cotton, 50^ poly- 
ester arms. My 13-year-old teddy bear, 
Theodora, shares the bed with me, and she 
seems as relaxed as I normally am. But 
perhaps we both had too much Weight Watchers 
Deluxe Frozen Pizza before nap time, and 
the olives and onions sought revenge. 

We fell asleep, Theodora and I, after 
10 minutes or so of the Winnie the Pooh 
Honey Tree album. I didn't even hear the 
"click" of the stereo, shutting off after 
the narrator said, "Please tell your parents 
to turn the record to side two." 

Suddenly, without reason, I was trapped 
under the steps of my front porch. I al- 
ways told my childhood fric/\ds that there 
was a dungeon in there, but I never expected 
to be sentenced to it, even after Mom found 
out I wrapped my beef stew in a Kleenex 
and stuffed it in the heater. There were 
torture devices everywhere, including snaJses 
and spiders. Ry fragile l8-year-old mind 
was shaking, like a snake's tongue does 
when he sticks it out to sense heat or some- 
thing. I could feel scales touching my 
skin, and for a moment I thought I might turn 
into a snake, like Dirk Benedict (whom I 
had a big crush on when I was 10) did in the 
movie, Ssss . 

Luckily, Theorora pulled me back into 
bed by dropping to the floor and waking me up 
I never could sleep without her fuzzy 
3-inch body next to mine, and I used to cry 
when she'd fall on to the heater and sizzle 
in my old room. I returned the favor and 
picked her up off the floor, tucking her 
into our Care Bear sheets and joining her un- 
consciousness . 

My ordeal was not over, however, as I 
was thrown straight out my wall and into 
the back yard. My beautiful chestnut and 
blonde dog, Chester, was being attacked by 
pit bulls. This had already happened once 
in real life, and I was now forced to return 
to the event by the pepperoni and tomato 
sauce in my bloodstream. There were two 
pit bulls and they tore at Chester with a 

ferocity unmatched even by human warfare. 
My puppy's coat was redder than I'd ever 
seen it before, but I could net get the 
other dogs away from him. 'ivTien the 
attack happened in real life, my father 
charged out of the house with a g^on and 
frightened away the pit bulls . We then 
drove Chester to the hospital, where he 
was stitched up and lifting his leg on 
everything as if nothing had happened. 
But now, he lay there like the beef in 
the supermarket deli, sliced and ready 
for purchase. 

An inebriated part of my brain woke 
me, and I bolted upright in bed, kind c: 
like, in the movies. I picked Theodora 
up again, as I had thrown her by ac cider. 
and got up. I creaked and sq.ueaked my 
way down the basement stairs and found 
Chester there at the bottom, looking up 
lazily and wagging his tail in an annoye 
but loving manner. I watched as he set- 
tled back into his dream, legs kicking 
and heart, pounding, perhaps chasing the 
miniature chuck wagon used in commercial 
I didn't consider myself unstuck ir 
time, but I stayed awake and read 

Slaughterhouse 5 anyway. Theodora and 
Chester slept on. 


Connie Legters 


The ritual begins . She showers 
and sets her hair in brush rollers, 
sure sign that tonight's the night. 

As her hair dries, she gathers 
sories for the rite. Out of a irawe: 
she pulls her girdle, that sacred ga: 
ment of restraining security. Her p. 
body, once squeezed into the constra 
causes her not a moment of concern. 
There will be plenty of tubbies -her 

Then the supper hour has come a 
pleasure recedes for that busy peri 2 
All is in readiness for her depar-ur 
Silver carls lay over her head, crea 
a shining crown. Powder and lipsxic 
lay on her vanity for lasu minute ap 
plication. She's particular acc^j 

( continued} 




A night Out, continued 

appearance, as always. Her palm itches as 
she goes about her duties. A preoccupied 
pleasure comes from this acknowledgement 
from Lady Luck that tonight will he hers. 

Supper over, she dresses. She wants 
to wear bright, eager colors for this night. 
Sparkles applied to fingers and ear lobes 
create the finishing touches. Lastly, she 
sprays herself with a cloud of lovely fra- 

From her closet, she takes her oldest, 
comfortable pair of shoes, the one concession 
she makes to aging. Above all, her feet 
must not hurt tonight . Picking up her things , 
she leaves for her night out. 

Entering the building, the hum greets 
her. Her enjoyment is obvious when greeted 
with warm regards. Making her way, she stops 
to chat 'with friends before moving on to her 
waiting seat. 

Seats are the most important part of this 
ritual. Sitting with good friends around is, 
of course, crucial. More necessary is a 
view of the lighted call board on the wall. 

Friendly gossip flows around her as she 
prepares for the evening ahead. She removes 
her talismans of good luck;, a toy elephant 
fo-uhd under the seat at a ball game; her 
mother's turkey wishbone painted bright pink; 
and a gift from her granddaughter, the minia- 
ture bottle containing a Lincoln penny. These 
are removed witW all due reverence, receiv- 
ing a brief kiss of affection as she lay them 
in the center of the table before her. 

There is time for a snack before things 
start, also an important part of the ritual. 
Settling back, she enjoys the respite. The 
excitement will soon begin. 

The overhead fans churn, moving air and 
smoke as one. A non-smoker, she is tolerant 
of the vice in others. I f you want to play, 
you have to pay, she reasons. 

There is activity up front. The whirl 
of the moving machine sings out. A last min- 
ute flurry precedes the anticipated moment. 
Over the microphone is heard, "All right, 
ladies, let's play BINGO." 

She glows vw'ith eagerness, and deftly 
picks up her plastic markers to play. She 
is delighted to be here. 


Judy Belfield 


Late green turned into 

shadow wash softly first 

then starkly dark; 

a foot knowing 

well-traveled route 

plants firm 

a gnashing of 

earth and shoe 

pushing each other 

against each other 

grinding, resisting. 

Scented air 

hanging like jasmine 

oozes down into the ground 

springs up suddenly 

around every step 

the spice of soil creating 

a new fragrance 

compound of et'her and solid 

warmly united 

now part of the conspiracy 

to chart the evening 

with a definite plan 

to arrive somewhere 

reach a destination 

become one with 

intent , movement , 

a night song ending contentedly 

having journeyed well 

foot, air, earth, mind 

in concert 

and then, in repose 

softly first 

then starkly dark 


Connie Legters 


She prepares carefully for her 
journey now it's time to go. Meticu- 
lous in packing arrangement , she has 
things in perfect order, ^one many times 
before, it comes second nature. Deciding 
when to go held her back. It's now or 
never . . 


Ride With Me, continued 

She takes out clothes to wear. Always 
her best color, widow's black will contrast 
with the new pale of her complexion. She 
thinks of hin, getting into her clothes. 
David. . .gone. It seems so unreal. 

The blood clot robbed them of so much. 
Striking fast and fatal, it left her reel- 
ing from shock and David's life over, just 
like that. Touching his jacket still hang- 
ing after these many months , indulging grief , 
she misses him. They were united, and best 
friends almost to the point of excluding 
others. With him gone, she feels empty, 
wanting only what is lost, the sun to her 
world . 

She turns back to preparations. Packed 
to go, she is anxious to leave. She'll 
make a tour to Alaska back through Canada. 
This was a trip they planned together, like 
many trips before. Love of travel acquired 
from him, David will go down new roads 
with her in memory. 

The musky smell of leather completes 
her dress. Lipstick and comb fit neatly 
in her pocket. Her purse will lie behind, 
gathering dust in the corner closet... a 
nuisance always. A quick glance in the mir- 
ror for assurance, she looks right, black 
leather's most impressive; a last minute 
check then she closes the door behind. She 
is ready to go. 

At the curb, she swings onto her black 
650 Yamaha motorcycle in full dress. Their 
large cycle sold, this smaller machine pleases 
her. Pulling the helmet tight, she turns 
on the gas, ^hen hits the electric start. 
The cycle roars to life, as if eager to move. 
Always, she feels the disappointment of the 
easy push button, missing the punch of the 
old kick start, sacrificed to being a grand- 
mother of two. The support of her family 
has reinforced her courage for this endeavor. 

Adjusting her mirrors, she gears into 
first, then checks before pulling out. 
Clover-leafing around the city, she makes 
her way onto 1-25, heading north. Air clears 
as she drives and dress leathers soften 
into the warm day. Sunshine leads the 
way, always the sign of a good ride ahead. 
Exhilaration of the open road lifts her 
heart as she shouts into the wind, "Alaska, 
here we come ! " 

Leaving Dallas behind, she recalls the 
greeting of hello and farewell, shared with 
fellow riders over the years : 

May you have warm words on a cole 

evening ; 
A full moon on a dark night ; 
And a smooth road all the way to 

your front door . 
She whispers, "Ride with me, 

MaryAnn DesMarais 


My mother got 

A brand-new Porsche, 

To celebrate and start anew 

When she and Dad got divorced. 

And she had gotten a whole lot. 

Even me. 

She says that she loves it when we're 

driving , 
How people turn to look at her beautiful 

And are mesmerized. 

"But mind you," she assures, "that isn" 
the reason why I bought this car." 
She smiles 

And turns up the expensive stereo. 

And I wonder about her. 

On weekends, when my father sees me. 
He comes up in his trusty station 

wagon . 
Frill-less and growing old, it's no 

luxury car. 
And nobody gapes at it while we're driv' 


Somehow that doesn't matter 
Because I'm not concerned with 
People whom I don't and never will know 
And what they think of me. 

At least not anymore. 

Nels Nelson 

Maria Mellinger 


I am a dead soldier. 
My mind was shot down 
As it danced on a dream 
Over liquid fields of hope. 
Suddenly peppered with shards of ridicule. 
Plummeting, wings faltering, into obscurity, 
Body burned on a funeral pyre. 
Ashes blown away, returning to fly immortal 


Elise Wylie Boucher 


A dead groundhog lay 
On the side of the road. 
Every day I had to walk past him 
And every day I thought I should move him. 
Because the side of the road is hardly 

On the first day. 

He didn't look dead. 

There was no blood. 

And I thought perhaps 

He was not dead, 

And I shouldn't touch him. 

For fear of a bite. 


I knew someday I would walk here idly. 

Dreaming, remembering 

Divorced from the past 

Not yet married to a particular future 

Just drifting through a pleasant present 

Of little drama and blithe unconcern. 

I stand alone upon a bridge 
Drop a fallen leaf to the river below 
'^^atch the current carry it away 
Wave good-bye. 

Farewell, farewell, 

I ^/ri.11 let you hold me no longer. 

I have wrapped myself 

Into a cocoon of small desires 

A safe and sunny place 

Untouched by your memory. 

On the second day 

It rained. 

And I could tell from sight 

That if I touched him. 

His fur would "be squishy and soggy, 

And perhaps it would be best 

If I left him to dry. 

By the third day. 

He was no longer simply a groundhog 

On the side of the road — 

He was a grisly personification of death. 

I left the side of the road. 
Which is hardly sacred. 
And found a new path. 


The Lakeside Poets 

Ave Ataue Vale, 



Between the mayo and the pickles , 
Sometimes there's a conversation. 
Sometime there's a laugh. 

Sometimes there's just the mayo and the 



?he ebbing tide recedes along the 
Shoreline leaving a trail of tidal 
Pools in a short-lived galaxy. 

Each microcosmic planet, a complete 

society of life. 

'' ******** 

'(fhile all the busy little creatures 
chase out their destinies. 

Living in their pools they soon 
forget about the sea. 


Connie Legters 

Brian Mahalick 


J. r r z.r. o 

Playing Possum 

Being is 

not being is not 

but is it? 

"Disregard the question!" 
Blurted Mr. Penny Pincher. 
"It has no potential- 


Maria Mellinger 



able jar 
of honey re- 

of the 
seconds we 
must steal toget- 


Dave Cenan 


Heavy Metal? 
'vho vill draw the line? 
Speed thrash death music. 
Some folks think it's fine. 
It really doesn't bother me. 
■Just got to keep yourself in line. 
Don't let yourself get into that. 
Satan worship bind. 
The music isn't really bad. 
It ' 3 all in your head 
Just keep on thinking like you should 
And you won't wake up dead. 


The old man would laugh in happy 
memory when he told the story. As silly 
as it seemed then, it was ten times as 
funny with the telling. 

Four of them traveled, depression 
days, in that old black Ford sedan. It 
was their home on wheels as well as 
transportation between gigs. Rolling 
from job to job, they celebrated the 
truth of their youth. Unmarried, their 
only responsibility was to themselves. 
Life had not yet claimed their freedom. 
With full gusto, they embraced it. 

■They whirled into Atlanta, Georgia, 
for a spot on a local radio broadcast. 
Nobody objected to going on third. It 
was a good slot . 

Backstage, they tuned and crooned, 
warming up. The wait was eased by the " 
pleasure of their refreshment. Drink 
and making music kind of went hand in 
hand. It was the backstage, on the road 
way of life. 

The five-minute call came and the 
professionals composed themselves for 
the job. Gathering instruments, they 
took their places to await the cue. 
Stepping to the microphone, they led 
into a rousing version of "Oh, Dem 
Golden Slippers," always a lively 

All was going well. Floyd pulled 
on the bass fiddle; Harvey picked ban- 
jo; Dan played piano and Bill str^jmmed 
rhyi:hm guitar. The music carried them 
higher and higher, helped along by the 
drink backstage. 

The director gave them a cue to 
cut. Blank faces turned to each othe.; 
as the rhythm overtook their control. 
They began to laugh, how silly! Ihey 
knew how to end this song. Ihey had 
to end this song. They could not end 
this song! They were trapped by the 
exuberance of their performance. Ihey 
were also feeling really good! 

Chaos broke out. Sponsors were 
irate! The stage director was turning 
alternating colors of red and green. 
Still the quartet played on, relin- 
quishing all composure. The cli -an 
would say each time he told it , ''J"e 

■-(continued ; 


Dem Golden Slippers, continued 

were lost in the Tvilight Zone of radio. ' 
Aftervards, they sat in the black 
car, bemusing the events of the evening. 
They played through three coimiercials before 
they finally found their way out of the song. 

Fired and broke! But how they laughed 
when recalling that hell with it feeling of 
knowing they were blowing it , while still 
caught up in the thrill of abandonment. 

It was a story the old man was always 
ready to tell, never failing to laugh with 
the telling. And we never failed to laugh 
with him. 


Erika Nelson 


Such a fitting name 
For my pretty friend. 
We shall play a game 
Real life and pretend. 

Maria Mellinger 


The beheaded rose 

Was left in the street. 

I took it from its pavement grave. 
Pulled the petals off one' by one- 
He loves me, he loves me not- 
And left them on trial with the sun. 
They left their smell on my fingers , 
Their blood on my hands 
And I pushed my nail into the stem 
Where its life began 

After the disposal of its vanity and 

There lay the seeds that were hidden 



MaryAnn DesMarais 

Your golden curls tied with a bow. 
Bright eyes a dazzling ocean blue. 
Your' r-«se-flushed cheeks all aglow. 
Bright-colored dress a purple hue. 

We smile at our knowledge 
A perfect day prepared. 
We wink and make a pledge 
A secret to be shared. 

No matter what we do, 

No matter what we say. 

There are precious few like you. 

The friend I made up today. 


Maria Mellinger 


A leaf. 

Dead, but yet living. 


In the 


Of a frozen sidewalk. 

Stepped on 

Yet, never looked on. 

Crushed , 

Never touched. 

But when the sunlight , 

Reflects the joy 

In the frost-stars of it^ 

I know it lives. 




Maria Mellinger 

How beautiful a bird looks, 

'vhen it's floating weightlessly in the air; 

Yet how ugly it can be. 

Standing on the ground 

With a worm mangled in its mouth 

And the fleas Jumping between its feathers. 



How can you not believe 
In a god 

That has so much space 
Devoted to him in the 
Art Institute? 



Maria Mellinger 

:4ATH 101 

The same is the sun. 

The difference is different; 

I can't take it anymore! 

Shut your geometrical little mouth. 

You square. 

Or the numbers get it. 


Richard Anthony 


I see your eyes 
from across the room. 
They look so lonely. 
Just filled with gloom. 

I start to wonder 

if I should try again, 

to find another love 

and risk being hiirt again. 

I wonder if you need someone, 
the way I need someone too. 
Do you need to "be held 
just like I do? 

I can just see me now 
holding you 

but you could be just a dream 
that will never come true. 

So I've got to find out now, 
if you're lonely too. 
I've got to figure this out 
what should I do? 


Jenny Nelson 


There is a point in every teenager's 
life where the need for independence ex- 
ceeds the need for the security of living 
3.Z home. >nien this need becomes apparent 
to an individual, it is all he or she can 

do to tolerate living around anything 
which reminds her of childhood. Child- 
hood represents dependence on other 
people, a dependence teens are desperate 
to let go of. 

Amy Torelli graduated in the spring 
of 1988. To her, it represented the 
transition from adolescence to adulthood, 
To her parents, it only represented the 
mistake she made when she decided to nc^ 
continue her education. Although Any 
worked full time, her parents still felt 
she was going nowhere. Since she still 
lived "under their roof," they never 
hesitated to voice their opinion. 

Aside from the conflicts at home, 
she was an average teenager. Amy was 
eighteen, with dark, flashing eyes and 
dark, frizzy hair that would be perfectly- 
straight if it weren't for over -perming. 
She was considered by most guys as above 
average, but not capable of stopping 
traffic . She had been popular in higK 
school, but now all of a sudden, old 
friends were gone and she was an outcast. 
If it weren't for her boyfriend, Darin, 
there would be no getting by. Even 
Darin could be demanding at times, and 
there was never time to be by herself 
to think. She was beginning to wonder 
if she was staying with Darin out of 
sheer habit . 

"Are you going to be at Darin's 
long. Babe?" Her mother appeared in 
her bedroom door and peered inquiringly 
at her daughter. Amy hated being called 
"Babe," and her mother knew it. She 
simply did it as one of her "I'm still 
in control" tactics, one of her many. 

"I don't know." A short, disinter- 
ested answer always irritated her mother 
the most. 

"T'Jhat are you going to do?" Yet 
another pointless question. Didn't she 
know by now that Any wouldn't answer? 



Amy knew the 

questions .her mother asked weren't neces- 
sarily out of line, but at this point, 
they were an intrusion on her personal 
life, something she was becoming in- 
creasingly convinced didn't exist. 

"You know, I really wish you could 
be a little more civil! Just because 
you're eighteen years old, doesn't near. 
you can come and go as you please. Ycu 
had your chance to move to college; ycu 

. (continued) 


Limbo, continued 

chose not to, so as long as your father and 
I are paying the bills you may as well show 
us some respect!" Amy stood there and 
watched her wide-hipped mother repeat the 
speech she could have repeated right along 
with her. 

"Goodbye Mother,, have a pleasant eve- 
ning. I've got a housekey." Her tone was 
sarcastic and arrogant , and she was only 
proving to her mother what she denied to 
herself; her attitude was bad. How does 
one stop acting like a bratty little kid, 
when every time they turn around there's 
somebody monitoring their every move. 

Amy closed the door on her mother's 
anger and took off for her car. Thank God 
she had her own car or she would have no 
privacy at all. She saw the porch light 
go on as she pulled out of the driveway. 
It was as though her mother thought she 

couldn't find her way. home without it^ 

Amy felt guilty about the way she acted, 
but even the little things her mother said 
represented a trap, and it was best then 
just to leave. 

The problem with leaving was that she 
really had nowhere to go. Darin's place 
didn't count anymore; he grilled her worse 
than her mother these days. They sat around, 
watched TV and drank beer. It was a novelty 
to go anywhere, and an even bigger surprise 
if they ever really talked about anything 
important. The "class couple" had become 
nothing more than acquaintances who seemed 
to have less and less in common. 

Amy pulled into Darin's driveway and 
jumped out of her car. She wasn't really 
happy to be here , but a beer would taste 
good, given her mood. Darin's mother greet- 
ed her at the door. She was a slender 
woman, fashionably dressed, and always 
smiling. She was the kind of mother Amy 
wanted to be someday, the kind of mother 
Amy's mother was not. 

"Hi, Honey." She smiled as always. 
"Darin got called into work at the last 
minute, he tried to catch you, but you had 
just left." 

"Did he tell my mother what he wanted?" 

""o , I don't think so, he was kind of 
in a hurry. Sorry about the wasted trip, 

Amy cringed at the word, but smiled 
any-j-ay. "!!Io problem, I'll find something 
else to do. Take care, and tell Darin I'll 

see him tomorrow." 

Amy jumped back in her car with 
a sigh of relief. Maybe it was time 
to break off the three-year "relation- 
ship," it was turning into a bad habit. 

Amy began to head for home, but 
realized she really wasn't in the mood 
to go. After driving around for a little 
while, she wondered what would happen if 
she never went home. Work wasn't so 
hard to come by; she could certainly make 
enough to support herself. She wouldn't 
be leaving anything behini, . Everything 
that ever mattered to her disappeared 
the day after graduation. She would be 
on her own. No one would rag, ask 
stupid questions , or grill her about 
every guy she talked to. Her thoughts 
and dreams would be her own to do with 
what she wanted. 

Amy sat at the four-way stop which 
separated her house and total freedom. 
She had been riding around for three 
hours plotting her getaway. She went 5 
forward and approached the back porch 
light which represented home. All 
she had to do was gun it; once she passed 
the porch light , there would be no one 
to answer to but herself. 

She approached the light, it appeared _ 
threatening, yet comforting too. 'vhen 
she got closer, she made her last minute 
decision. Mechanically she pulled into 
the driveway and made her way to the 
house. Once inside, she heard her mother 
get up to check and make sure it was her , 
as if it would be anybody else. Arsy 
reached up to turn off the light and 
dragged in to greet her mother. 


Maria Mellinger 


vfhy sleep now, 

^/Then there are only 

A few hours of night left , 

And these bags 'onder your eyes 

Fit better than 

Your favorite pair of pajamas? 



Maria Mellinger 


I wanted everyone to know about you. 

So I forced myself into poetry one day 

And came up with love-sick lines 

That a puppy cou-ld have written. 

And even some cliches. 

I found myself habbling on paper. 

Which isn't a pretty sight. 

But I felt the need to express you 

And share you while you remained hidden. 

In an attempt to shed some light. 

But obviously there ' s a power at work here- 

And it isn't just my greed- 

I'm the only one able to see you 

In words , 

And I'm the only one who has the need. 


Ifiz^ Hand 


We smile at babies always, 
even in our blackest moods. 

As if they knew some secret 
we've forgotten long ago. 

But by the time they've reached 

the age of verbalizing they've forgotten. 

I know the answer ' s out there 
as I know I knew it once. 

As did you, 

and each of us in infamcy. 

We've only just, 

to solve the riddle , every baby knows . 


Nels ITelson 

Richard Anthony 


"fJhen I'm sitting in my room 


I wonder who I am 

Do I belong in this world 

I almost feel crazy-thinkirvg these 

crazy thoughts 

and then I suddenly realize 

-I need another voice 

Someone to say they need me 
-to make me feel in place 

Someone to say they'll love me 
-for as long as I love them 

Whenever I feel confused 
as what to do in life 
it's then I suddenly realize 
-I need another voice 

Someone to say you're doing right 
-all is good and fair 

Someone to say you're going to make 
-you're going to reach your dream 

But no matter how much 

I need another voice 

it always seems to be 

my voice having to speak out 

because no one else is here 


Cheri L. Workman 


You're a victim of fashion. 

Fashion and accessories. 

It ' s not who you are , it's what 

But then of course... 

who really cares who you are!?! 




Columbus was thought to be moonstruck 

For stating 

That the world is round 

Now this is an accepted fact. 

It seems , to me at least , 

That in order to progress 

From where we are at , 

We have to don the colors of insanit; 

"■.■There else is there to go? 

• • / 

Elise Wylie Boucher 

Maria Mellinger 


The room is empty 
I stand, back against the vail 
And suddenly see you 
Standing across and away from me 
So distant (nothing new) 

Are you real? 

Or am I lost in yet another dream? 

I step slowly towards you 

And, like a nightmare. 

The chasm between us grows larger 

You are gone as quickly as you came 

I stand alone in the center of 
This huge, echoing, empty cage 

"Victim of Tormented Fantasies 

Slise Wylie Boucher 


The shore is empty now, 
as if no one had ever been there. 
I have turned back to gaze upon the lake 
And question my memories 
Did I ever really spend my time here 
Letting sand slip through my fingers 
Like so many lost chances? 
?Iave I tr^jJLy taken comfort from the 
flight breeze's caress? 
Was it here I lost my faith in man 
when finding you unfaithful? 

'The smooth surface stretches away from me 

The sky is black and '.inf or giving 

As I am 

It is time for me to t-orn my back 

To find another iark haven. 




Out of nothingness comes a shape- 

A shape of things to come. 

And from the form 

Comes the norm- 

The norm of the nothingness zone. 

Deep in darkness shines a light- 

A light that shines within. 

And from the glow 

Comes the Know- 

The knowledge of nothingness grown. 


Jerald Janes 


B really doesn't matter how they 
met, what doea matter is that they did. 

He loved her as she loved him. At 
least they knew that. So we know, but... 

They married and had a few years , 
wonderful years , to themselves when 
they began to feel for a change. A 
child might help, so they had a child. 

A boy. 

The boy was very beautiful just as 
they were both very beautiful. He was 
an exceptionally curious person that 
commanded the attention of others by his 
presence alone. 

So they loved him very much. 

Life can be wonderful . 

Let's call the boy "Bier." 3-L-S-R. 
Let's call the mother Morsh. "M-O-R-S-H." 
Let's call the father ".ARC. A-R-C. 

Bier divided by (Morsh + Arc) = 0. 

They lived in a suburban setting 
complete with r^'onning warer and central 

Life was wonderful. They could do 
Just anything together. Bier was the 
center of the universe to Morsh and .Arc. 

Here we go. 

Bier was beginning to resembl« his 
father in every way. His mannerisms were 
similar to those of of his father's. His 
looks, voice, laugh, humor, and general 
composition were close enough to .Arc's 
to amaze even Morsh. .^fterall, they were 
father and son. 


Nothing, continued 

The whole thing was great. They would 
go out to lunch, or something as equally 
entertaining and always some middle aged wo- 
man would walk up to the family and volun- 
teer to touch 31er on the head and comment 
on how much the two males looked alike. 

In high school. Arc was the captain 
of the football team. 31er had Just en- 
tered into his sophomore year when he was 
appointed captain. This was unheard of 
in his school district. Bier was a very 
special boy. And everyone in the neighbor- 
hood knew it. 

By now. Arc and Bier were inseparable. 
The two would spend hours together for amy 
given reason. Saturdays were the most 
opportune dua to Morsh's pottery class. 

These Saturdays were spent fishing or 
at the ball game. Anything, it didn't mat- 
ter, just that the two were together. 
The two males could sit in a room together 
and not utter one sound while still being 
totally content. 

Bier died instantly. Arc had only 
one hand on the wheel while the other light- 
ly punched his son's forearm in a gesture 
of affection. 

Arc never did forgive himself for losing 
control of the car. 

Time passed. The wound got infected. 

Morsh had come to deal with her son's 
death after a long period of time, but Arc 
still could not speak of it. The subject 
had never been pondered since the day of the 

Arc had lost EVERYTHING . 

There were many nights that he spent 
alone in the garage where Father and Son 
would often play Rummy or sneak the occa- 
sional beer behinci the back of the watchful 

Arc was making Morsh suspicious due to 
the noise he was generating. Each night, she 
would ask, ""^vTiat are you making in there, 
honey?" Each night, he would reply, "Nothing, 

Can you imagine the anguish that Arc 
was forcing upon his beloved wife by these 
foolish behaviors? Go ahead and imagine for 
a moment , I ' 11 wait . 

OK. This one Saturday night Morsh walks 
out to the garage. "'vhat are you doing. 
Arc!?" she screamed in frustration through 
the electric garage door. 

"Please leave me alone. I'm doing 
nothing," replied Arc in a surprised voice. 

"No! You will let me in. Arc! Eve 
night you come here to hide. You've Icz 
your job, you have no friends any more, 
you have nothing except me. Psid you are 
losing that since you would rather come 
to sulk in this shed than be with your 
vife. -^-lAT ARE YOU DOING!!?" 

There was a long pause. 

Morsh finally turns away, towards th 
house, but is forced to look back when ~. 
rattle and grind of the garage door an- 
nounces it's opening. 

She looks into the garage to see wb 
appears to be Arc bent over a something 
on the garage floor. 

Curiously, she walks into the gar as 
to see Arc, a set of tools, wood, stones 
metal, dirt oil, rubber, cement, nails, 
screws, and other various materials 
scattered about in disarray. 

In the center of the cement floor, 
under the hunched figure of Arc , is some 
device, as it appears to Morsh. 

It is fashioned out of all the ele- 
ments on the floor. A screw here, a spr 
there. A belt here, a pipe there, ic 
you get the picture? Get the picture, 
I'll wait. 

OK. Formless and pointless, this 
machine seems to be a creative guinea ; 
for Arc's maddened mind. 

Arc explains to Morsh that' this m, 
chine will get Bier back to the both o 
them so that once again, 3LER+M0RSH+AR 

Obviously to Morsh, Arc is now in^ 
sane. She refuses to listen to his ra 
tionalizations . 

Morsh leaves Arc to put her life 
back together again. 

Arc didn't miss Morsh, he only mi 
Bier, his son. 




' Finally, the afternoon came fcr 
testing of the machine. Arc had beer- 
wide awake for four days in anticipa~ic: 
of the return of his child. 

Arc walked calmly to the garage, 
opened the door , and pulled the machine 
out to the driveway. 

He really didn't know hew to use i: 
or what it would actually do , but he 
knew that soon Bier would be with him. 




nothing, continued 

So he sat , under the sun , . on the gravel , 
with the neighbors watching thi^ough cur- 
tained windows. He sat with two "beers, 
the machine, and hope. 

He started the machine. It made a low 
rumble then leveled off to a hum. It took 
five minutes before it started to happen. 

In the garage, on the chair, was a con- 
fusion. It was as if there was nothing there, 
no air. No light. No space. Nothing. 

Arc stared at, nothing in the 
chair. Nothing seemed to stare back. 

Arc did not know how to react , so he 
didn't. He just sat there, nursing his beer, 
for an hour. 

Finally he rose to walk to nothing. No- 
thing rose and moved towards him. 

Inside the garage. Arc felt an urge to 
speak. So he spoke. "Bier?" he questioned. 
Nothing answered. 

"Bier, my only son, is it you?" Nothing 
responded to his question. 

Arc began to speak openly to nothing 
and nothing always replied. 

Finally, Arc walked to the driveway to 
get the second beer and gave it to nothing. 
Nothing drank it. 

"Let's go inside, son," said Arc to no- 
thing, and with nothing leading the way, the 
two went into the house. 

were friends to those bewildered around 
her, as they were friends to her. She 
could feel no resentment of their close 

Memories, what good could they do 
her? She had all she needed here. Only 
pain came from remembering. Better to 
accept the comfort than to recall what 
brought her here. 

Thus , Doris Collins chose her road 
to travel that led her nowhere. She 
never found herself again, lost forever 
in that comfortable maze with many doors , 
opened easily enough but never wide enough 
to see tJ\« outside world again. 


Connie Legters 


I sip from the cup to taste memory. 
And find it goiie, lost forever. 
Sorry, no refill. 

I fill the cup with salty tears. 
Yesterday died and tomorrow promised 
To care for me. 


Connie Legters 

I drain the cup of liquid. 
Seeking heat to warm my bones 


She couldn't remember when it all started. 
Once she could but trying now only caused her 
confusion, sending her to wander aimlessly 
over the grounds . They would come for her 
with a funny story to stop her tears, then 
lead her back. 

The doctor told her it wasn't important 
to remember it all, just the good parts. It 
grew more elusive each day as again she was 
failing herself. She thought of Martin... 
always there for her. 'i^^here was he now? Sure- 
ly, he would help her remember the past, how 
it all began. 

Doris looked around at the surroundings 
in which she lived. The building was old 
and clean, full of doors, all locked and un- 
locked often to assure the illusion of free- 
dom. She noticed the devoted attendants, 
never leaving her side for long. And they 

I hold the cup, cold in hand. 
What life is this, without a bed 
To die in? 

I lose the cup, taken away. 
Pushed back to the stre-ets where 
Homeless . 


Paul Pritchett 


Time. Cat. Fiddle. Cat. Play. Fiddle. 
String. Broken. Money. Fixed. :?,uestion. 
Dog. Money. Dog. No. Ask. Bird. 
Bird. Birds. Birds. Destroy. Cat. Cat. 
Dead. Bird. Feather. Flock. Together. 




Maria Mellinger 


Greetings. You remember me. We met 
some veeks ago in a creative writing class, 
although I must admit, I was hardly impressed. 
Not to worry — nothing impresses me. 

Since we've last seen each other, my 
life has not improved greatly. I have 
stolen a few more thoughts from my author, 
seen a few more pages . torn out of our lives , 
and made a pass or two at that sexy little 
French cookbook on the counter. She doesn't 
like the literary type, I assume, as I've 
seen her on many a night with a particular 
romance novel. 

A new monkey has been sent to our zoo 
here on the living room floor. She is an 
adolescent diary, and I must admit I find her 
positively revolting. "No one understands 
me," she's always moaning, and I thank 
God for that . If someone understood her , 

always going on about some Timmy Leary 
guy and Mom's always on the cosmic plain 
or the astro turf or something and no- 
body knows I exist..." 

The ash from the incense floated li 
an angel down from above and smeared it- 
self onto the diary's face. I smiled ar. 
looked away, hoping to catch a glimpse 
of the French chick. C'est mv la vie, 

Seconds later, I smelled burning 
ink, a sensation worse than the smell o: 
an innocent paper towel wrapped aro^onl = 
sausage and sentenced to death in a mic; 
wave oven. The diary was on fire! 

At first, I thought she had spon- 
taneously combusted from the memory of 
Biff's strong lips, but then I realized 
it was the incense cone burning her fle^ 
and mixing it with its own smokey spicy 

Suddenly, I felt my corner shrivel- 
ing. I looked down and saw a withered 
brown edge with a line of orange fol- 
lowing it- Frantically, I crinkled mys 
up, pulled at my spiral bound restraint 
and looked longingly at my words . They 

someone could like her, and I'm much too nasty weren't going to be mine for much longe. 

to want that to happen. Fortunately, we 
don't see her often, as the giggling pubes- 
cent that owns her takes great pleasure in 
hiding in the closet and filling her pages 
with nonsense. 

Today, however, she is a fraction of an 
inch away from me on the plush stain- 
resistant carpeting. Junior MJss must have 
dropped her out of a book bag on the way 
to the mall. Exposing herself the way she does, 
I can plainly see the nightmare handwriting 
and the bloodc^ordling words , "we like went 
to the mall and like looked for boys and oh 
my God Biff was there and he's like so in- 
credibly gorgeous I could die..." 

A primal scream therapy book began 
screaming, either from the loss of his mother 
years ago, the horror of the diary's 
tale, or the entrance of the family's cocker 
spaniel. His voice was soon drowned out by 
the latter. 

Where ' s that puppy when I need him 
Paper's best friend — Ha! 

The last thing I remembered before 
having my remains blown into the wind 
was my author walking in the door . 

"Bummer," he said. 

Damn hippies. 


Connie Legters 


Being there should be enough. 
And it would have been. 

Except that I was somewhere else. 
Because I could have been. 

After our friend Sparky had finished 
marking his territory, he leapt about as 
puppies are wont to do. He leapt straight 
into the burning incense that stupid writer 
had left behind when he went off in search 
of himself this morning. Damn hippies. 

A slight breeze turned the diary's page 
and she began crying, "okay, I'm like so 
sick of my parents you know? Like Dad's 

If I had done as I was told. 

Instead of what I wanted 
The job would be a thing of 

Hot what I have 

Do not despair, 
And the time's 

I'm not sure when 
But I'll do it 

to ao . 

I'll get it 
3 in sight. 

that mighi 



:e . 


Time Out, continued 

Then once I have the job complete. 

When my mind is free. 
I'll get right hack to being here, 

Where I'd rather be. 

Gail Reed Rimkus 



Gail Reed Rimkus 


in fading light of no color 

the circle arcs to its beginning 

we know 

it is time to greet the end 

I float my hands over your face 

eyes memorize 

your warmth in my blood always 

I guide your fingers down 

the faultline of my soul 

the scar remains 

hold me 

until I can no longer breathe 

I pass for a moment 

into your circle 

hearts pacified 

the sky whitens in pain 

and we are released to the past 


bittersweet devotion 
loving you 
will never be 
all wrong 
I am changed 
turn away now 
look back at me 
in comfort 
as softness 

with dark light at my back 

I will -oilot to uncharted land 

in faded light of winter 
we come upon one another 
in a private wood 
where only the trees 
have kept our secret 

through four quadrants 

of season 

we have danced a duet 

frigjitened now 

to spin alone 

we return again 

to the crossroads 

with hope 

that the other 

will solo 

how much more . 
can I love you 
but to be the one 
to venture 
from your love 

I vanish 

through a circle 
of woodland 
where skeletons 
of pale trees 
rattle and sigh 
in windless air 

you call out 

my name 

a whisper raw 

echoes off my back 

and sorrow settles 

in the hollow 

of a branch 

Nels Nelson 


the air deeiDens with absence 



Come this dream to me- 
Flowers wail in cat-screech voices. 
Hope's eyes weep tears of blood 
Spring breaks her ankle and dances 

no more. 
Come this dream in me- 

The wind truns black and buries the sun. 
Beauty hitches a ride out of town. 

Love commits suicide in the night 
Live this dream inside of me- 
Fire drips from my flesh, 
Burning my soul, which lies on the floor 
Lizard eyes tear through my mind. 
Sweep out this dream with an old straw 


MsLryAnn DesMarais 

Ellen Boss 



It's not that the door is locked. 

But that most don't want to come in. 

If you knock politely, 

Without stooping to peer thru the keyhole 

The door widens a crack 

(Though the chain is still on. ) 

You may now glimpse the place where I r,ye. 

If you appreciate my interior design. 

Come in for a while, and, just perhaps. 

You'll find that you're comfortable here 

And that you'll like the views from my windows 


Nels Nelson 


When, if ever. 

You decide te> come 

To me. 

Do so quietly, 

So as not to disturb 

My sleeping soul. 

Had you come earlier. 

When things were louder inside. 

Your entrance would have been grand. 

But now, I've had to 

Muffle my heart and mind 

In order to rest my sanity. 

Please, slip in silently 

Through the backdoor. 

So as not to jar me unwantingly. 

The light hits 


Linked together 


Around the neck 


Above the dress 


On the neck 


The light hits 


Can't turn my head 


How I want 


Grasp it nov" 


Banish the thought 


The light hits 
Can't stop 


Wishing it mine 
Kill for it 




Maria Mellinaer 





The message was vague - 
the pain deep. 

Bring forth the idea as beauty 
to form an obsolete color, 


A fine painting 

Blends art with life , 

Shadows with the soul , 

Color with the characters of creatio: 

Yet when one steps too close to -he 3 

The brush strokes and cracks in the 

Appear quite clearly 
A-nd all is reduced to oil en rarer. 



Mary Ann DesMarais 

Maria Mellinger 







mirrors reflect 

successively synmetric 
shapes deflect 

"brilliantly electric 

colors changing 

helplessly drawn 
constantly rearranging 

unrelenting pawn 

What a fun game 

in a little tube of glass 
it ' s never the same 

Isn't that how life seems to pass? 

whirling twirling 
twisting turning... 


Maria Mellinger 



Don't mute ;rour artistry- 
Let it flow from you 
Like flamboyant waters. 
Draw yourself in colors 
Sharp_er than the river's edge. 
Don't write yourself into a whirlpool 
Of convention. 
But walk on water 
And tread conformity. 

Life is an incredible hallucination, 

You can't tell where existence ends 

And the sky begins . 

You can go to hell and back 

And back again. 

But the analytical insanity 

And everything odd 

Will still be coloring your vision. 

You'll be a parody in pink 

As anarchy explodes in you. 

Like something out of the 

Swiss Family Manson, 

Until your dream is reduced 

To meaty graffiti 

On the walls of your mind. 

And you wake up in a cold sweat. 


MaryAnn DesMarais 


Never say 
What we want them to 
They tangle 
Thread — 
Becoming more entwined 
With each 
At reparation. 



Maria Mellinger 

!Iel3 Nelson 



Two to one 

Our minds fuse 

Like separ-vr-i. chocolatej melting together 

Into a pool of sweetness 

The flies come and drink our souls 

Love becomes disease 

She was in search of knowledge. 

Or at least the power to impress 

People with it. 

She used Big Words, 

Read Big Books, 

And thought Big Thoughts 

With her little mind. 

v continued) 


In Search Of Knowledge, continued 

Mary Ann DesMarais 

She locked herself in the library, 

Studied away the sun. 

And separated her nature 

From her knowledge. 

But little did she know. 

She was misspelling 

Her own life. 


Jerald Janes 


*Is it here in complete disregard for this 
social code couples and quadruples spend 
their time at tables possibly in a pro- 
posed state of mediocrity. 
^Someone walks into the room 
I search his face for familiarity 
But perpetually- it is a strange face to me. 
*Shall I continue with my slight variance 
from the room 
Can I continue on to some infernal harmony 
Will I continue to ban myself from this 

*There are times that I'd care to ignore. 
Times when I crave equality 
Ea.uality being that of apathy 
*But I feel constrained, restricted to this 
Oh, he is alive — but constantly borderline. 
In my paranoia I feel this is my judgment. 
*The music continues to sedate my anxieties 
I hide in my opinion of this jazz 
I want someone to sit down at this table. 
*Are those stares from the other patrons sim- 
ply self-induced 
Or are they happening? 
I crave the explanation. 
As I write, I realize my circiimstance 
Rightfully 3o, I desei"/e better. 
But I only look forward to sleep. 
"I pause for a moment to tap my pen. 

Onto this incarnate beat of what I feel I am 
*As I ignite another cigarette I do so 
with "feeling" 
Oh, give it up, Jerry — who are your trying 

to impress? 
Do those people create some sort of based 
playground of thought? 
*This is where I stop writing. 



I have seen the music flutter by 

in the fresh cold 

of a fountain in ecstasy. 
I have heard the stars sparkle 

in the sweet laughter 

of a glistening tear upon a petal. 
I have touched perfumes 

flickering in the night sky 
like wisps of smokey silence. 
And because I have experienced 

these things which 
You have not 
You call me mad and 
Place me within the 
Confines of this asylum. 
For this I hold no grudge — only 
I, in my turn shall 
Pity you, who refuse to see 
My world. 

I have seen yours , and 
It is nat right that 
He who has seen 
Both is more worthy a 
Judge than 

He who has seen only one? 
And yet , you , in your 

Inexorable insistence, stand firm upon 
Prejudiced pride. 
Condemning that of which you know 
Nothing . 
For such as you 
I wish not stay 
Yet I hope we meet again . . . 
You know where 
I will be. 


Maria Mellinser 


Deaf Ted was born ^0 years eld 
I96U . He was a poorly poor man ' in 
lower middle lower class Sora'ifica: 
and deaf to boot. 

Danoota was born in 19c- as we^ 
She was an aged handicapped homo sex- 
woman — the biggest majority of mine: 
ties ever found in-- one body. 



The Further Adventurs of Deaf Ted, continued 

Both popped into a poem by John Lennon 
and were abandoned there. They found them- 
selves waiting for a revolution. Maybe 
Shakespearean sonnets would make a come- 
back and they could join the upper class. 
Or maybe the novel would return with the 
force of Ernest Hemingway's elephant gun, 
and Deaf Ted and Danoota. could be sent to 
World War I to eat macaroni and cheese in 
the trenches and fall in love. 

In the meantime. Deaf Ted was working 
in a factory making facts, which were us- 
ually stuffed into encyclopedias and diction- 
aries. Danoota hung out at gay bars, but 
no one would pick up an aged handicapped 
homosexual woman, probably because she 
weighed a little over hOO pounds. 

Sometimes they would hold literary 
parties. All of John's poetry would come, 
including Nigel, a merr^ little dog who 
was "doomed to" die over and over again in 
the last stanza. There were many spasmatics 
and deformities present, but Paul McCartney 
never showed. He was too busy trying to 
find words that rhymed with "yesterday." 
Deaf Ted and Danoota would serve generic 
corn flakes and hard water, as they were 
too poorly poor to buy Chex Snack Mix. 

Deaf Ted and Danoota never sought 
counseling, despite their constant bickering 
and mutual inferiority complex. Danoota 
would simply scream until she foamed at the 
mouth and got her straight jacket all soggy 
while Deaf Ted, being deaf, didn't listen. 

In the ev>d, of course, they loved each 
other. (Well, okay. .they could tolerate each 
other. ) And until the revolution, they were 
stuck being Deaf Ted and Danoota. 

Finally, on quite a happy camper type 
of day, the revolution came. Characters 
everywhere crawled out from under their 
type or print and took over the upper middle 
class. "Leather binding and gold leaf for 
everyone!" they shouted, shedding their 
paperback covers. 

Danoota, meanwhile, was in a gay bar, 
on the floor, and no one could pick her 
up, for the obvious reasons. She was trampled 
to death by Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer, 
who did not want Aunt Polly to catch them in 
the bar. 

Deaf Ted was working in the factory, 
assembling some biological facts, and he 
missed the revolution. He remained a poorly 

poor man (in the lower middle lower 
class stratification) and deaf to boot. 

He has an appointment to get a 
hearing aid tomorrow. 


Elise Wylie Boucher 


Call me 

Queen of Spades 
Queen of Swords 
Queen of Sorrow 

It does not matter 

They are all the same woman 

She stands upon a barren plain 
Beside her ornate throne 
Gale winds flail her 
Storm Clouds threaten her 

She doesn't deign to notice. 

She stands erect 

One hand hefts her sword high 

One hand beckons unwillingly 

"Come, Despair!" my-her desperate cry, 

"I have faced you before, 

I shall stand to you again! 

Never will I yield to you! 

Burn me as you will . . . 

I shall not plead 'Mercy!' 

Instead, I name you False Lover." 

Let the Battle Begin. 


Maria Mellinger 


I can tell you how they'd describe 
it in a movie. It would happen in a 
nice, clean, white bathroom, with maybe 
a pink fuz::y rug or one of those toilet 

(continued ; 


..At The Movies, continued 

lid covers injecting color into the 
scene. There would he no sound, except 
for the water running; its steam shadowing 
the niirror and its excess filling the por- 
celain tub or perhaps gurgling down the 
drain. The lights would he bright, but 
the air niisty. 

The girl standing in the bathroom 
might be naked; She told her parents 
she was going to take a bath, and the 
writers need nudity to interest young 
viewers or push the PG to an R rating. 
The camera would move slowly down her 
ami, her hand hiding something at first, 
and when she moves, there would be the 
shine of metal reflecting the light. 

Of course the razor blade would be 
an intensely studied object. VJhile her 
hand shakes , thoughts of doubt or relief 
bumping around her bruised mind, the audi- 
ence would see the fresh metal, never 
before used, its packaging and fellow com- 
panions balanced on the sink. It would 
almost glow in the light, sometimes catch- 
ing her face in its mirrored surface, but 
would seem dark and forbidding as well. 
The sharpened stainless steel edge would 
appear a different shade altogether much 
like the lips appear different from one's 
cheek. And like the lips, the edge could 
open wide and bite into human flesh. 

Returning to the girl, her face would 
be focused, lost in her own concentration. 
Now would not be the time for crying, 
but perhaps later a tear would fall. She 
would nervously lick her lips , wipe the 
sweat from her brow, and push her hair back 
into place out of mere habit. No one would 
know what was going on behind those blue, 
brown, or hazel eyes (depending on which 
actress fit the part). 

The water would still be noisily 
clamoring for her attention, and either 
annoyed or frigKtened, she would thrust her 
wrists under its steam <^nd then silence it 
with a turn of the knob. Wiping the film 
off the mirror's corner, she would look 
at her own face. 

After. . . 

Slowly. . . 

Finally. , .She'd hold one arm straight 
out, raise her weapon as the executioner 
raises his ax, and lash out at her own 
skin. The cut would be deep and red, but 
not painful enough to stop her from 

duplicating her performance on the other 
arm. She would be silent, except for a 
small cry or a feeble -/rLmper , for in res 
ty, she was now as strong as she voula 
ever be, and thus refuse to scream. 

The white tiled floor would ce poll-" 
dotted with blood, the sink smeared witr 
as she put the razor delicately back in 
its box, and the tub filled with it 
after she lay down like Jay Gatsby wait: 
for life to end. 

The bathroom lights would grow dim 
her eyes would close, it would be over. 

And then the lights would flash on 
again, brighter than before. "Cut!" 
someone would yell, and the girl wouli 
climb out of the tub and into her wait- 
ing robe. "Christ, what's wrong with 
that take?" 

Life, however, is a little less cu' 

. . . and dr" 


Nels Nelson 


Muck-swamp , bleeding -fog , 

In the mansion of the serpent . 

Purple octopus vines 

Cling to the crushing night air . 

A red moon peers through cigarette 

And a raven-black hound 

Howls at the thick mystery of the : 


Frank Sanchez 


Dreams transport the ones who need to ^ 
out of town, and !4r. Anderson, you surs 
left. Your ^'^jsarture from the paint 
factory and from your family has become 
a heroic act of courage. Your Winesbur 
teaches a lesson to be learned: Miidl: 
town dreams must be realized in crier 
to break free of Middletown itself. 



Maria Mellinger 

Mary Ann DesMarais 



I tried to draw a portrait of you. 
But the shadows hid ^rour face. 
I stared at a photograph of you. 
And music filled my head. 
I tried to write a novel for you, 
3ut the words ran for shelter. 

It seems that nothing can trace 
The lifeline that you have led. 
And no artificial art 
Can somehow capture your soul. 

And so you will have to he content 
With the life that I live for you; 
And our ordinary existence 
As actors in our only part. 


The stiff, grey-haired figure 

Shuffles along with 

Slow, pained movement. 

Her gnarled hand grasps 

The worn scrapbook 

Filled with remembrances of 

Younger days . 

With weary eyes 

She glances at the photos 

And is whisked back in time 

To laughter, excitement, and friends. 

Chimes of the clock 

Bring her back to cruel reality. 

Wistfully closing the book 

She looks around the lonely apartment. 

Through slow tears 

She watches 

The fading sunset. 

Brian Mahaliftk 



Eyes and savage smiles dancing beyond the camera's light 

Distancing herself from herself 


Through no fault of her own 

Elise Wylie Boucher 


That's the way it is 

Unf ortunat ely 

It it is at all anchored in fact 

It seems her death was an appearance 

"lor much more than a sound bite 

■Just as her life seemed not quite real 

Reflections in rippling water 

A constant transition 

A segue 

PerhaDs a fade to black 


Dance away 
Pretty, pretty 
Sly slanted eyes 
So well made up 
Twine your fingers through his hai] 
Long and supple, caress 
Vulture smile 

yes, he's yours 
Another Helpless Victim 
Added to your trophy case 
You've got to take it all 
Red lips (so pouty"* 
Press yourself a little 
Smile in your seductive sort of vay 
Circe's got nothing on you, babe 
Psychotic siren that you are 


f broken lives 

c 1 s er 

In a baby cradle 
snug and warm 

Baby is hiding 
safe from harm 

Something's gone! 

Teddy's gone! 
Open wide cradle 

Hold it high 
Come little Teddy 

Before Baby cries 



Nels Nelson 

Maria Mellinger 



Driving with Mother and Father 
Through Nebraska in winter 
To see Grandma, and looking 
Out the window at fields 
Which are empty like a television 
After all the stations sign off, 
A boy wonders what his friends 
Are doing back home. 

Ellen Ross 


The night lies 

with death 

the day crawls 

with life, 

come with me 

and be mine tonight. 

We will walk 

hand and hand 

down an -lonpaved street, 

I will teach you 

the deepest love 

that ' s oh so sweet . 

Listen to the sacred 

wind blowing 

swiftly through the trees , 

absorb the dark 

that you will 

soon come to need. 

Take me and let me 

pierce you with 

iTiy ki s s , 

make you begin to crave 

the black, the white 

you will never miss. 

So , please take my 

hand in flight , 

as they watch us 

dance into the arms 

of the night. 



Please me cry the baby wail 
Pet me wag the animal tail 
Ease me into no avail 
Cry a voice near by. 

Accept me say the insecure 
Disease me if there be a cure 
Reject me if I fail to lure 
Say a voice away. 

Love me speak a broken mind 
Leave me in the shell you find 
Let the watch itself lonwind 
Resolve the voice involved. 


Connie Legters 


Soft whisper winds bestir my mind. 
Recalling days, time left behind. 

Growing warm with memory's haze, 
Into my past, I fondly gaze. 

Days of sunlight , burning bright , 
Fading into cool, dark night. 

Alight with only distannt stars... 
And lightning bugs within my jar. 

Laughing friends, I heard once more, 
Urging me, outside the door. 

To run with them, to feel the thrill. 
Of all that's young and once was real 

A sadness now descends upon me, 
For what I've lost, has left me 


Tender days of youth, gone by. 
Gone... no matter how I cry. 


Jimi Saieg 

Maria Mellinger 



Did you say your name vas Jim? 
Hey! How ya doin' man? 
Let me introduce myselr". 
Some may know my name,' 
You know all those rock stars? 
Yah-I am all their fame. 

People say I'm addicting. 
That statement is quite true, 
but the truth is what i speak, 
I really desire you. 

Just allow yourself the pleasure, 
Jim, make yourself feel good. 
It's "been a long, tough day. 
Oh Baby, I know you would. 

_ You '_1!L_ vant_m_e-,-more and_ more , 

Obey my every command. 

Lie, steal and cheat. 

Just to get me in your hand. 

Quite '11 bit of drunk I be 

But don't you know I'm 23 

It says so on this paper, man, 

I dug out of a garbage can. 

A ring '11 be is in me ear 

And wouldn't you guess that I can't hear 

'Cause there's alcohol in me brain, you 

And the only bell ringing is me 
So sit I am and write poetry 
For quite '11 bit of drunk I be 
I still live and breathe and maybe hope 
If the death of their brothers , my 

brain cells cope 


„. . ., 1 .. ... . P.aul- Pritchett 


Without me you will tremble. 

Maybe throw a fit or two , 

My best friend. . .his name is " Nervous , " 

When he ' s mad , 

Jim you're through. 

So just stay on my good side, 

Jim, tell your family to go to hell. 

Give me your money. 

Your mind, 

I promise, I won't tell. 

Don't deny your emotions. Talking to 
a soda pop can doesn't mean you want to 
drink it. It also doesn't mean you're 
not thirsty. It means that a large ship 
is far away. A ship is on the water. 
The water is an ingredient in soda pop. 


Maria Mellinger 

You say it ' s Jim eh? 
I may just drive you insane. 
Some people call me " Snow " 
You can call me Cocaine. 


Maria Mellinger 



I cannot cling to myself. 

I've tried, 

But my hands always end up 

Empty . 

I cling to you because you are 

A visible, tangible 


Does that mean I am 

In love? 


Startling smile 


Opened lips 

His ■ 

^anta eyes 

And his 
Into a kiss. 



Judy Belfield 

Nels Nelson 



I think we might 

slip cool fingers 

through our jungle vaterfall, 

70U Tarzan 

I not -Jane 

sing the music of bright birds 

in the middle of screeches 

and scary beast growls 

you not afraid at all 

big man 

nearly silent 

I think we might 

never feel the insect flitters and stings 

in our jungle treetops 

you Tarzan 

I not -Jane 

fly to tomorrow's evenings 

on a dream vine 

we find waiting - ■ - ; -.- 

for your big-man hands 

to grab 

to carry us, nearly silent 



Frank Sanchez 


Us, together with the sweetness of song 
fuse into each other as we float down a 
river of wine. Numbed by the ancient 
potion, we plunge deeper into its depths. 
Such ecstasy overwhelms our senses, leav- 
ing us relishing each other for all time. 
'■■^e cannot break the bonds of this intoxi- 
cating state, but in the end it does not 
matter, because such 'Ecstatic pleasure 
could only be experienced in a dream. 



As the purple night ocean crests 
Over the rocks , slapping them as 
A mother slaps a misbehaving son. 
Children dance to the tune of -jjikncvn 

Which sits in their guts like boij-ing 

The hooded ones are brought forth 
To pay for our crime. 
Atropos appears and opens her feared 

To snip the strings of life. 
The bell tolls. 
The executions have begun. 


Nels Nelson 


I grab the back of your head 

And shoot my lips into yours . 

You gasp for air; 

I cram my sotiI and bundled emotions intc 

your heart . 

You pull away, crying. 

The magnet is switched on. 

Nov you are mine. 

Having suffered the sting of the scor- 

Having experienced the kiss of death. 


Paul Pritchett 


A papaya sued his pink grandma. 
v^That does the blind vegetable see? 
Can't explode, can't explode. 


following poem 






a news 







it is 

okay for unmarri 

sd oecc 

le -c 



Now bac 

k to 


ocem al 

-•^ Q Q -^ - - 

in progress. 

Love contains all these thing; 
The music, the emotion. 
The blind exploding papaya. 


Mary Ann DesMarais 


I didn't know that your face would "be dif- 

fierent in sleep 
Or that your arms would lock around me for 

all of the night 
And only hold tighter if I tried to 

move away. 

I didn't know, on the nights you were 
asleep before I came to our bed, 

That the slightest whisper of a touch 
against the sheets 

Would awaken you and your arms would 
reach out for me. 

I didn't know that during the early dawn 
when I moved against you, half asleep. 

That I would hear you, half asleep, 
whisper, "I love you." 

I could not have imagined how it would 
feel to wake to your gentle touch 

Brushing the hair from my eyes so you 
could kiss my cheek. 

My darling, I just didn't know that there 
are more ways than one to be loved. 

Connie Legters 


Stay with me. 

Don't let me go. 

Let the flames of passion grow. 

Embrace me, let me show you how; 

Let me show you now. 

Stay with me. 

Stay with me. 

Don't try to go. 

Enjoy with me, the after glow. 

I'll wrap you in my silken web^ 

Hold you here til dead. 

Stay with me. 

Stay with me. 

Can ' t let you go . 

My deadly secrets now you know. 

Another lover, I'd not win. 

My web , I'd not spin . 

Stay with me." 

Maria Mellinger 



Mark Kerman 


We met in the hospital, and somehow I knew I 
had fallen in love with her. By the time I 
was permitted out of the hospital, we de- 
cided to move in together. My legs still 
were not able to take the abuse of walking, 
3o she pushed my wheelchair around all day. 
She even fed me, and waited on me hand and 
foot. I loved her. Life was good for me. 
It started to become monotonous, though, 
the way she would rip off my clothes every 
day and I began to complain. Not only com- 
plain, but cry. I would cry my heart out 
until she would caress me like she first 
lid. She '.vas so good to me. I loved my 

Sigmund Freud 

For one day I was able to feel 
The harsh cotton of your hair. 
The warm breeze of your skin. 
And the fragility of your smile. 
For one day I had you next to me. 
To scare the others away. 
Welcome me back into your beauty, 
Make me fall in love with you again, 
For one day only. 


Frank Sane he" 


Sitting, drenched in perspiration 
she recalls her moments 
in the limelight 

Stiff from age, her worn out 

V continued) 



Losing It, continued 

Body repels the physical torment 
"■.ihich had once filled her 
With joy. 

Dancing with the grace of a 
S-:'ingtiine bird in flight 
She had lost herself in 
Those poetic movements 
But now, her aching limhs 
And downcast face brood over 
The old applause, echoing 
Through her mind. 

Judy Belfield 


Star-spr inkled- — — - - - - - - - - 



My eyes became 

soul inside out 

exposed to air 

like blueblood turned red 

never knowing — 

really knowing 


I have eggshell nerves; 

pressed the right way 

strong as thunderbolts 

but there is a wrong way. . . 

The night 


breathes too exq.uisitely 

even for gods 


!Iels Nelson 


The ordeal started at 2:37 p.m., 
when I received Tuesday. I wasn't sure 
what a Tuesday was. My father had just 
dropped it in my lap. 

"".vhat's this, pop," I asked. 

"It's a Tuesday," he replied. I 
shrugged, and went outside to play with 
my new Tuesday. 

We frolicked in the back yard, as 
any friends would do , and then my neigh- 
bor came over. 

"^/fhat's that?" he asked exactly 
like I did earlier. 

I smugly threw the answer, "It's a 
Tuesday, silly bastard," at his face. 
After wiping the blood from his mouth, 
he asked if he could have one. 

"No way. There is only one in the 
whole world, and my pop gave it to me." 
He asked what it did. 

"I'm not sure, but it's mine," I 

"Can I play with it?" he asked. 

"No, it is mine." Children are 
taught to be so selfish. Materialism 
rears its ugly head at an early age. 

My neighbor ran home screaming tha" 
I couldn't be his friend anymore. I 
yelled after him, "You crybaby but thole 
jerk!" My older brother had just taugh" 
me how to say that , and I beamed with p: 
for being mature enough to handle such 
tricky phrase with the utmost satisfac- 

I played straight until bedtime wi- 
my Tuesday, and then made mom tuck it 
into bed next to me. I slept better th 
a man who'd' run a million miles in one 
would sleep. Tuesday and I danced en - 
same dreams . 

When mom said it was time to get x 
the next morning, I noticed that my Tue 
day had been stolen during the night . 
The screams of terror were unbearable , 
like five-hundred-thousand fingernails 
being dragged across a chalkboard while 
atomic bombs exploded on every 3q.uare 
mile on the planet . 

I raced through the house, locking 
everywhere for my Tuesday. It was no- 
where to be found, so I flew over to t.v 
neighbor's house and beat him ur. 

'Where is my Tuesday 

o " 


iOQ '-' 

at the bloody glob of flesh lying on z'r. 
ground. He said he didn't know. I 
didn't believe him, still ion't, cu^ 
what was I to do? 

I zipped back home in less time ~h 
it takes Batman to slide down his pole. 
and climbed onto my BigvJheel, a terricl 
powerful machine capable of ripping 
holes in concrete blocks thirty fee- 
deep. My plan was simple enough. I 



The Ordeal, continued 

■was- going to search the world, which at 
that time was about two or three blocks 
big, for my stolen Tuesday. 

I went to the playground, the corner 
gas station, everywhere I could think of, 
but my efforts were futile. I even had Mrs. 
worthingston, who was around 375 years old, 
drive me to the toy store to see if they 
had any Tuesdays in stock. Finally, I went 
home exhausted, and collapsed in a heap of 
quivering, destroyed child vho'd been raped 
of his Tuesday. 

These days, being all grown up, I've 
learned to live without my Tuesday. For 
twenty- four hours each week though, I can't 
gather the gumption to crawl out of my bed. 
During this time, I look out my window and 
see my neighbor skipping around and smiling 
a smile bigger than a freight train. 

I mutter, "You crybaby butthole jerk," 
over and over to myself until I pass out from 
the intense hate shot out my window and into 
his skull. I never did believe him. 


Slise Wylie Boucher 

Nels Nelson 


In the decayed morning, Tchaikovsky scares 

Away the last stars with a boom 

Boom boom boom chase them all away 

I look in the mirror and see a twisted 

Body that is corroding 

From lack of sleep for days 

Stuck with myself for life but 

Not caring because my mind has shut off 

Hours before and the album skips 

I become the album for a second 

Then decide to sleep but it won't work 

Because I've forgotten how so I 

Try to finish the damn story but 

My hand shakes protesting poor working 

I stare out the window and see 
Atropos opening her shears to cut my 
Life-thread I scramble to knot the string 
Before finally falling head-first into 

a dream 
And staying there for 27 hours. 



Srika Nelson 

Talk about history repeating. 

He looked around and there she was 

Beckoning blinding shining 

He never saw 

She's just the same 

As every woman that went before 

He doesn't see the disaster 

That all their smiles betray 

Like a crazy man, he jumps off the cliff 

To climb the Kill and jump again 

And when this woman 

Breaks his heart 

Like every woman before 

He'll wonder why and never see 

He buys his o^m heart break 

Talk about fatal attractions 




Which mask shall I wear today? 

I have so many to choose from. 

I go through my closet looking 

Closely at each and ever;/ one. 

The possibilities are endless. 

Yet none appeal to me. 

Perhaps I will leave my masks at home. 

No one will notice anyway. 

To them it's just another mask. 


Elise Wylie Boucher 


Vivian stood at the window 
And spoke of lost dreams 
And hopes given up too soon 
She frightened me 
For I saw myself 
Standing in her place 
Forlornly wondering what 
Would have been 

Had I done as I desired 

If I had chased the rainhow 

If I had allowed myself to live 

Before I traded it all away 

Oh, "but it is done now. . . 
Vivian watches the night 
And I try not to see. 


Judy Belfield 

Nels Nelson 




when you said those things 

did you mean to speak so 

-quickly? - - 

tumbling out the words with such 


and did you mean to sound so 

far away? 

Did you know that 

I heard the lies 

between the lines? ■ 

They were predictably 

painful . 

I don't know why I hoped, 

kept hoping, keep hoping; 

don't know why I see yesterday 

as some mistaice 

time and dreams distorted — 

it never happened. 

Why do I hear 

jour voice, far away 

speaking quickly 

with such ease 

those things? Maria Mellinger 

Antique hurricane lamp 

Bought by Grandmother at Sears 

Seventy years ago, or so. 

You sit on the living room table, 

Revered for your age and delicacy. 

Mom has placed a halo over you. 

"Don't touch it. It means a lot to me," 

She says as I run through the house 

I have never had a halo placed over my 

I have never meant as much as you. ■ 
Oh, how I hate you and the attention you 

How I want to smash you with my new 

baseball bat . 
Then what would mother love? 
An old table, or perhaps a china plate? 
Will I have to grow old 
Before mother puts a halo over me? 





Just go and go away 

You know there's nothing more to say 

There is nothing you can do 

But leave me here 

And no 

Don't worry — it's not in you 

And don't cry 

You don't care 

Nor do I 

So dry 

The smile dripping from your face 


Just go and go away 



Just Go and Go Away, continued 

And don't "believe that you can pray 

Because there's nothing no one 

Anywhere can do 

But leave me here 

Deep inside of my own 

And come and visit me 

When you explode 

No more words 
Just a silence 


I put the glass up to me eye 

Wrapped in a frame of wire 

And read a quite bit lonely "book 

While all everybody eclipsed in fire. 

Then I be all a lonely, 

Having the rest of the world has died. 

And I watch The Twilight Zone on TV 

Being bid my lonely goodbye 'd^ 


MaryAnn DesMarais 

Virgil L. Frost, Jr. 


Hearing a voice cry in the night 
Eerily resounding through the valley 
Another lonely soul voicing its sorrow 
Then you lift your eyes to the stars 
Heartbroken at being left behind 
Every ounce of your being, yearning to 

Go home 
Realizing you cannot, you bow your 

Head and cry 

Never again will you see another 

Like yourself 
Or hear the sound of their laughter 
Ever, ever again 
Left behind, forever exiled 

As the sun rises 

No one notices the pretty blonde 

Girl on the hill 
During the day, people come and go 
Every one of them passing you by 
Returning darkness brings back the 

Shining down upon you 
Only you know where they've gone 
Never to return for you, ever 


Maria Mellinger 


I felt a quite bit lonely. 
For lonely though I be, 
I sat alone in silence 
V/hile all everybody looked at me. 




I wonder if there is a time 

when I can be free... 
Free to roam the sands 
of the earth 
as far 

as the horizons extend. 
To see the burning sun blaze 
through the prisms of 

the sky, 
reflecting a blinding 

on the ripples 
of the sea. 
Free to run swiftly through 
the valley 

while being chased 
by the melodious laugh 
of a breeze 

or the soft fragrance 
of wild flowers . 
Free to hide under a blanket 

of darkness 
and gaze upon remote stars 
that seem to be 

an arm's length away. 
Free to conquer 

my desires 
and make them realities. 
Free to contemplate 
or collect ideas 

about my inner self; 
Do what I want 

others may doubt me. 
Free to stand up for my beliefs 
when other opinions differ... 
not caring 

but understanding. 
Dream of freedom 

because freedom is not 

or place 
but merely in one's soul. 


Maria Mellinger 


I must simply "breathe for days and days. 

Never thinking or moving at all- 

And then I can taste your magic ways. 

Like the old woman who sits and prays 
With her bent knuckles around her shawl, 
I must simply "breathe for days and days 

Or the lonely child in a craze 

To retrieve from the street her lost ball- 

And then I can taste your magic ways. 

Perhaps as the winter in its haze 
Before the snow takes its final fall, 
I must simply "breathe for days and days . 

It's sinful the heavy price one pays. 

Wasting life on a moment so small, 

. . .And then I can taste your magic ways 

But such is the fate of one who stays 
After the other answers the call. 
I must simply breathe for days and days 
And then I can taste your magic ways . 


Gail Reed Rimkus 



we share the madness 

of our separate lives 

torment of loves lost 

voids that throb and ache 

to be refilled 

secrets intimate 

whispered at last 

the exile of our souls 

we bond in the spoken word 

a caress to soften the scar 

as we go on surviving 

I so long to touch you 

to be touched by you 



so close 

so dear 


as October breezes 

at midnight 

hushed desire 

pulses in a secret vein 

I retreat 

for my heart knows too well 

the price of risk 

that each beginning 

will arc to an end 

that every joy 

promises sorrow 

your eyes 

burdened now 

in subtle innuendo 

their charge rustles awake 

passion in my spirit 

long buried 

under thicker skin 

I startle at my need 

to know 

what I dare not speak aloud 

set free what is captive 

in your gentle heart 

tell me what your eyes seek 

when they stare into me 

answer what I cannot ask 

a new day begins 

by the gathering of stars 

innocent I remain 

in the abyss of your hold 

but riddled in question 

numb to the rush of darkness 

of solitude 

haunted by the shadow 

of your absence 



Elise Wylie Boucher 


Marsha were are you you now? 

So beautiful and the world 
and the men were yours 
Your fancy clothes and pearls and gold 

Gave you such distinction 
While those such as I hid in your shadow 

Too enamoured to envy 

So blinded by brilliance 
Oh you were so shiny, Marsha. 

And I was just dross. 


Marsha where have you gone? 

There is no soul in your eyes now 
A vacant stare is all that remains 
In the eyes that destroyed so many 

Little track marks, tiny silver spoon 
Marsha, what has become of you? 
Did you simply wander into insanity. 
Or did an Avenger extract the payment 
For all the broken hearts 
Left callously in your wake? 

Judy Belfield 


Her smile caught 

one day 

(soul, I think now) — 

Daddy one Sunday 

before Church 

everybody all dressed up 

or Mom at a picnic 



Hold still 

Look here 

I'm trying to capture your soul 

not knowing may need it some day 

for the newspaper. . . 

Remember that day 

before Church? 

at the picnic? 

Happy sixteenth Birthday, Baby 

Everyday is an agony. 

Flattened out newspaper-print soul 

smiling. . . 

God, Daddy, leave me alone 

I look awful — 


Hold still. . . 

Wouldn't she be amazed 

how many people are wondering 

what ended the fourteen years — 

When we're together in heaven: 

rhyming lines 

selected from a 

catalog of we-dniss-you verses 

offered by 

I cannot imagine what person, business 

Write a poem 

Mother says 

you have a way with words 

make it say how we ache 

it's been two years now. 

I love you. Baby. 

A certain limited fame 

celebrity however brief — 

a soul replaced tomorrow 

by another smile 

another face, 

forgotten really. 

Will Baby see it? 

Will God? 

All the people who stop on this page 

joined by 

captured souls 

and God 

to remember 

how fragile it all is 

to commiserate only because 

we think 



forget . 

Are you reading this, God? 



Nels Nelson 


My eyes are broken. 
You see. I 

My heart is rusfed. 
You see. I 

lAy feet are sleeping. 
You see. I 


My mind is drowning. 
You see. I 
Think . 

My life is slipping. 
You see. I 



Elise Wylie Boucher 
Maria Mellinger 
Nels Nelson 
Frank Sanchez 
Maria Mellinger 
Mary Ann DesMarais 
Brian Mahalick 
Elise Wylie Boucher 
Holly Goldie 
Nels Nelson 
Maria Mellinger 
Ellen Ross 
Connie Legters 
Jimi Saieg 
Paul Pritchett 
Maria Mellinger 

Judy Belfield 
Prank Sanchez 
Nels Nelson 
Paul Pritchett 
Mary Ann DesMarais 
Connie Legters 
Mark Keman 
Maria Mellinger 
Frank Sanchez 
Judy Selfield 
Nels Nelson 
Zlise Wylie Boucher 
Nels Nelson 
Zrika Nelson 
Elise Wylie Boucher 
o'udy Belfield 
Nels Nelson 
Maria Mellinger 

Tarot 19 

. . .At the Movies ^ 19 

Loui s iana 20 

Shervood 20 

Portrait ■ 21 

Portrait of an Elderly Woman ■ 21 

For Jessie a 21 

Watching Tanya Again 21 

Baby Cradle . ■ 21 

Child' s Vacation- ■ 22 

Please Me Cry the Baby Wail 22 

Children of the Night ■ 22 

Tender Youth — ■ ■ 22 

Did You Say Your Name Was Jim? ■ 23 

Flirting 23 

His Startling Smile, Quite '11 Bit of Drunk I Be, I 

Cannot Cling To Myself 23 

Tropical Fancy 2^ 

A Dionysian Dream 2^ 

Night Life, Kiss 2^ 

Love 2 ^ 

The Ways of Love- 25 

"Stay With Me, " A Spider's Song 25 

Not Another Love Story! 25 

For One Day ■ ■ 25 

Losing It 25 

Ecstasy 26 

The Ordeal ■ ■ 26 

Adult er e s s 2 7 

Six O'clock After Three Days 27 

Mask 2" 

Ame Perdue 23 

Lies • 23 

Envy ■ 2 3 

Just Go and Go Away 23 

(continued on inside front cover) -^ 


11 iii 

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